Drugs Bust
by doctorcoffeeboy
Summary: Rated T for Drugs. Johns Confronts Sherlock about his old drug habits, to find they are not so far behind him after all...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Enjoy! But afterward, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the Authors note for me! Thanks!

Oh, Sherlock's not mine by the way. If it was, I would have got the new series up and out by now, and we wouldn't be worried for our Favourite Consulting Detective and our favourite ex-Army Doctors' health and lifes! But Moffatt and Gatiss are doing a great job!

"I'm Bored." Sherlock stated.

He was sat on his armchair, lounged across it, legs over one of the arms, head resting on the other, one arm draped over where his legs should have been, had he been sitting on it properly. His hair was flopped across his face and he'd been in the same position for days. John still didn't know how he managed not to get fidgety.

"Do something then." John suggested, putting a cup of tea on the table next to him.

"But that's the problem. There _isn't _something! No deaths, no suicides, no murders. Not even a robbery. What is _wrong_ with the Criminals of London? It's all SO DULL." To make his point he ended in a yell.

John had known him for around 2 weeks now. 12 days ago the Lauriston Gardens case was closed, and nothing had happened since. Sherlock was getting more and more agitated each hour, with more and more things aggravating him. Earlier he'd hand a mini-tantrum because John had tried to make him stand up, or else the blood would just collect in his head. Sherlock had told John he knew perfectly well what would happen, but didn't care.

"You took away my gun, _and _Mrs. Hudson took away my skull! Don't you understand how much I need something to do?"

"Alright." John sat down opposite him. "I've been meaning to ask for a while, but you haven't been speaking so I let you alone. Now, you're bored, so we can talk." He looked at Sherlock curiously. "Two weeks back, when Lestrade bought in the Drugs Bust. When I told him you were completely clean, you told me to stop talking…" John trailed of cautiously. "So, _**Are **_you clean?"

"I had a…phase." Sherlock avoided Johns eyes and looked across the room at the smiling face he'd spray-painted onto the wall so that he could test his aim.

"A 'Phase'?" John frowned. "How much of a phase?" With Sherlock, a phase could be anything.

" It was an addiction." Sherlock didn't bother trying to cover it.

"You're still clean now though, right?"

Sherlock stood up and walked away from John, looking away from him and out of the window down at the annoyingly peaceful streets of Baker Street.

"Sometimes." He said in a slow voice.

"Sometimes! What the hell does 'sometimes' mean?" Watson stood up, fists shaking. Sherlock might be a genius, but didn't he see how wrong this could go for him? His medical side was even more concerned for his Self-Confessed Sociopathic colleague.

"Well…Sometimes I turn to them, sometimes I don't. Mycroft doesn't approve, but…I was just keeping busy. " Sherlock shrugged, not seeing how bad it was. As far as he was concerned, it a perfectly normal thing for him to do. He wasn't used to people caring this much, apart from Mycroft, but he didn't count.

"When was your last fix?" Watson asked carefully.

"What day is it?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Saturday."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"Saturday."

A/N: Hullo everyone! I had this rattling round in my brain since November of last year (gosh, doesn't that sound weird?) but I've been tinkering with it. Now, I need your help, like the Baker Street Irregulars in the books or what could be described as the homeless network in London working for Sherlock in The Great Game!

Here's my problem. This story has been gathering dust in the back of my internal library for so long I had to get it out here, but I'm stuck. I have NO idea how to continue it. I want to somehow get to playing with Drug!Withdrawal Sherlock, but dunno how to get there. That is where *You Lot* become my Fanfiction Network and help me out. What should happen? How should it Continue? I'll put up a poll on my profile with the best ideas' so you can all let me know what you think should happen.

This story depends on ALL of you, okay! If I don't get your views, I can't continue!


	2. Chapter 2

_**Previously:**_

"_When was your last fix?" Watson asked carefully._

"_What day is it?" Sherlock asked curiously._

"_Saturday."_

"_Oh."_

"_Well?"_

"_Saturday."_

XxXxXxX

John felt his eyes widen in shock.

"Saturday! As in…TODAY!" He found himself yelling.

"Yes John, you should know the days of the week by now." Sherlock replied, already turning away, and John couldn't help but be concerned at how casually Sherlock was taking this.

"Sherlock!" John grabbed his shoulder, turning the taller man to face him. "Don't you understand what you're doing to yourself? What if you take too much?" John sent his waves of anger and care towards his flatmate, faintly glad to see him take a step back. At least he was getting through.

"My mind rebels at stagnation, John." Sherlock stated. "It needs to be active or I will simply waste away. I can't expect you to understand. Besides, I won't. I'm used to it." Sherlock winced. Those words were wrong.

"USED to it? You mean you've been doing this for a while?"

"Yes. It took me until five and a half years ago to realise that I only needed a good puzzle to keep my mind occupied. Until then, I was…a bit experimental with certain substances."

John started to speak, probably to give Sherlock the speech about how wrong it was, how it was common sense, and Sherlock should know better, but Sherlock knew all that.

"John. Save it. I've got to go."

John shook his head. It was making sense. The way Sherlock's eyes seemed darker when he was out of cases, how pale he was, those afternoons spent just laying on the couch, his arms always covered in Nicotine Patches. He dreaded to think what else might have been in those things to make him need them so much. Or what condition the skin was like beneath them.

"Where?"

"Out! I need to get some time alone." Sherlock turned on his heel, running down the stairs and out of the door, leaving his coat on the hanger on the back of the door to his and Johns' flat in his haste to get away. The door slammed behind him and Sherlock started running.

Into the pouring rain.

XxXxXxX

John looked out of the window, watching helplessly as Sherlock ran across the road into one of the back alleys.

Without really thinking, John picked up his phone and dialled the one number he could think of that could actually help Sherlock right now.

XxXxXxX

Sherlock registered the rain soaking him within moments of exiting the house, but immediately dismissed it as irrelevant.

He let his legs work on autopilot, running anywhere that was away from his normal surroundings. He couldn't deal with John right now. He didn't understand, he never would. Even Mycroft had failed to grasp the predicament Sherlock was in.

After about twenty minutes, Sherlock found himself on top of a very tall building on the other side of Soho. Everyone on the streets were either rushing home, or getting to shelter as the wind and rain picked up.

His skin had passed the feeling of coldness, and simply moved to non-existent. He was numb. To be honest, this suited Sherlock perfectly. He needed to not feel anything now. He'd wanted to keep this all from John as long as possible, but keeping up a lie in front of John was somehow impossible. This appeared to be the only man that could see through him, besides Mycroft of course.

Somehow, through the hail and wind, Sherlock heard movement behind him. Instantly alert, he whipped round, his sharp eyes piercing the darkness, searching out for anything that could give away the person invading his space.

Two figures, one by the stairs he'd run up, one by the door from inside the building. Blocking his escape.

Sherlock's lips turned up in a smirk. They really thought they could corner him like that.

Keeping his pace steady, Sherlock began walking towards them; satisfied to see them halt slightly, not expecting it.

"Gentlemen, you will have try a little harder than that." Sherlock called, turning swiftly on his heel and running back to the edge of the building, jumping onto the ledge and straight over.

XxXxXxX

A/N: Wow. Sorry guys! I want to continue, but this is just a perfect ending. Rest assured readers, all will be well.

**Thanks to '**_**lilyplusjamesistotallove', 'gumfrog', 'Jasmine', 'Evil Squid', 'cant remember my password', **_**The fabulous '**_**Jason Layton'**_** for always reviewing my work and giving fantastic reviews, **_**'ds9jullian', **_**and the fantastic '**_**Pikeru's Angel'**_** for just being. **

**Don't worry guys, I've taken the offers in your reviews to heart, they will all be put into play next Chapter!**

**Let me know what you think, I know it's been AGES since I updated, but I was stuck for inspiration until last night when I found an old notebook with about ¾ of an A4 page scrawled out. It definitely got me going.**

**Lydistar x**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: HI! Wow, you all loved last chapter! I'm flattered, honestly. **

**Well, I hate to keep you all waiting, here's the next chapter, because Miss Fae Fae demanded I work on the next one straight away. And expectant!Sherlock is just standing over me. **

**XxXxXxX**

Sherlock closed his eyes as he fell, and rolled on impact as he hit the roof of the lower building. He jumped up straight away, looking behind him as he started jogging away. The figures were standing, watching him.

Chuckling to himself about how predictable they were, Sherlock turned round to run properly, keeping an eye on the floor in case he put his foot on a grill and slipped in the hammering rain.

He didn't hear the two new additions quietly falling into step just behind him.

XxXxXxX

John bit his lip as he looked at the imposing figure opposite him.

Mycroft Holmes twisted his lips into a cruel mockery of a smile.

"I assure you my brother will be back presently." He stated.

Just as he finished speaking, the door downstairs slammed open, and Mrs. Hudson could be heard instantly fussing over the arrival.

"Mrs. Hudson, kindly leave me alone." Sherlock snapped, followed by: "Alright, alright. I know how to walk up my own stairs!"

A second or so later, a stubborn-faced, dripping wet and slightly shaking Sherlock stood at the door to his and Johns' flat. He glared at his brother and then to John.

"You called him." He muttered. It wasn't a question, but John still felt compelled to reply.

"What else was I to do?"

"Leave me!" Sherlock suggested. "Let me have some space! Instead of asking my brother to send a bunch of his cronies after me."

Mycroft's brow creased slightly. "I only send two, Sherlock."

Sherlock's mind instantly flicked back to the first two people on the highest building. They hadn't actually advanced, just watched him. If it hadn't been Mycroft…

He shivered slightly at the thought of what could have happened, but of course John mistook it for the fact that Sherlock might be cold.

"Sherlock, go and get changed into something dryer." Mycroft commanded.

Sherlock raised his chin slightly, challenging his brother.

"Make me."

Mycroft sighed. "Stop being childish."

Sherlock's jaw set defiantly. "Well, you always treat me like one."

John watched the argument with curious eyes. He mildly wondered if Sherlock was always like this with his brother, and if he'd been like this all the time they lived in the same house. A mansion probably.

One of the suited figures that had accompanied Sherlock up the stairs – a dry person, so they must have switched in the cars, John thought to himself – stepped closer to him, as if to physically push him up the stairs to get changed.

Sherlock flinched away, and set his cold eyes on John, then to his brother before storming of to his room.

Mycroft waited a beat before speaking. "He was never very good at taking orders." He turned to John. "So, as a medical man, what do you propose we do with Sherlock?"

John shrugged, uncomfortable with conduction a conversation with this man.

"Well, we can't just let him carry on as normal. I suggest a clinic-" Mycroft started.

Johns' eyes widened. "No! We can't send him to clinic. It seems like there is more to all this than the casual addict. He'd only get worse surrounded by people wallowing in self pity."

Mycroft sighed. "So you'd rather he stayed home with hidden stashes. I wouldn't be surprised if he's hiding them now."

John sighed exasperatedly. "I don't know! But I'm not letting him go to a clinic."

"It's the best option for this situation-"

"Normally, yes. But I hardly think Sherlock counts as your average drug addict. He wasn't exactly acting like one."

"Yes, you didn't notice he was taking, did you? What kind of Doctor can't tell when the one person he lives with and spends long amounts of time in the same room as is taking illegal drugs?"

Johns' jaw tightened. No-one mocked his skills as a medic. "How was I to know I was supposed to be looking for the signs! I've never met Sherlock before this, I just accepted it as normal, he told me there would be days of silence, so I didn't question it."

"Well, maybe you need to rethink your assumptions." Mycroft stated. "The care of my brother is much more important than your pride."

Sherlock re-emerged, his hair still dripping, apparently he hadn't bothered actually drying himself. He'd changed into his pyjama's, and his blue silk dressing gown.

He silently went to his couch, sitting so his feet were curled under himself and pulling the dressing gown tightly round himself as he folded his arms and scowled at the two men.

"Continue your conversation. If it's about me, which it obviously is, I don't see why I can't be present." He spat.

Mycroft looked carefully at his brother.

"Why are you being like this Sherlock?"

"Because you're here. You don't need to be. You can stop holding my hand and let me make my own decisions!"

This little outburst was slightly ruined by Sherlock still shaking from his rainy excursion.

Mycroft stood from the seat Sherlock usually occupied.

"I think it's my time to leave." He muttered.

"Good. Take the time to drown yourself as you step out of the door, won't you?" Sherlock shot at him.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I have this umbrella for a reason, Sherlock."

"Really? I thought it was just for decoration." Sherlock replied sarcastically.

Mycroft didn't reply, but walked towards the door. As he got to the stairs, he turned to John.

"Can I have a word?" He asked.

John nodded reluctantly. He didn't think he'd like it, but he sort of had to say yes.

Mycroft closed the door behind them.

"At least think about my offer. He'd do much better at a clinic."

John shook his head. "No. If you'll excuse me, I need to make sure Sherlock hasn't got Hypothermia." He turned, leaving the elder Holmes on the stairs and closing the door with rather more force than necessary.

He turned to Sherlock, who was studying him with curiosity.

"You." John started. "Have some seriously explaining to do."

XxXxXxX

A/N: Hope that was good, sorry for the rather long argument. It kind of ran away from me.

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

**-Lydistar x**


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